


now you're mine

by ketabat



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Achillean Billy Hargrove, Achillean Steve Harrington, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Crushes, Familiars, First Kiss, Herbology, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Misunderstandings, Neil Hargrove Doesn't Exist, Pining, SOFT BILLY!, Self-Indulgent, Spells & Enchantments, Steve Harrington-centric, Wingman Robin Buckley, Witch Steve Harrington, ambiguous time period, which means
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27141293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ketabat/pseuds/ketabat
Summary: “What is it, honey?”Steve opens and closes his mouth on a few failed attempts at wording the crisis he’s in. Then, “Is there a way to break a love spell?”or, steve accidentally casts a love spell on billy.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 38
Kudos: 347





	now you're mine

**Author's Note:**

> hihi. this is probably the most self-indulgent thing ive ever written in my life lbr. its just lighthearted sappiness. no abuse or homophobia, almost utopian ngl. annnnd the era is up to you :D enjoy!!

“Steve, come _on._ It was just—”  
  
“No,” Steve’s walking ahead, picking up pace to break Robin’s stride. She only walks faster, adjusting her bag on her shoulder.  
  
“Look, I just wanted to know if the spells in there were legit, alright?”  
  
“Ah, right,” Steve chuckles dryly. “So, your grandma’s a witch and there’s a spell book in her attic. It takes a _genius_ to know if the spells in there are bona fide, huh?”  
  
Robin groans. “Steve, you’re being dramatic.”  
  
“Am I?” Steve stops and turns around, making her nearly bump into him and skid to a stop just under the wire. “Am I being dramatic, Rob? You _hexed_ my _crush.”  
  
“Hex _is a big word,” Robin mumbles. “Besides, I did it so he’d crush on you _back.”  
_  
“You _lied_ to me,” Steve steps in closer. “You told me it was for your stupid _cat—”  
  
_“Hey, watch your mouth!” Robin warns, lifting a threatening finger. She’s not playing around this time, the whole atmosphere turning a shade darker. “Claws is as smart as they come.”  
  
Steve slaps her hand away. “Don’t point your finger at me,” he grits out. “I should’ve put it together. Claws isn’t even _blond._ Just. Leave me alone. I need some time.”  
  
Robin waves a hand, “Take all the time you need, _buddy,”_ she rolls her eyes. He’s already storming off, nearly tripping over his own undone shoelaces. She snaps her fingers, ties them for him and makes him curse. “I did you a favor by the way!” she calls out after him.

…

“Mama? You got some time?” Steve peeks into the kitchen where his mom and aunt Cheryl are shooting the breeze, quiet and a little suspicious. “Hey, aunt Cheryl,” he greets when they both go quiet and turn to look at him.  
  
Cheryl blows on her tea. “Hi, Stevie.”  
  
“What is it, honey?”  
  
Steve opens and closes his mouth on a few failed attempts at wording the crisis he’s in. Then, “Is there a way to break a love spell?”  
  
Cheryl laughs into the lip of her cup, eyeing her sister over it. “Answer him, _Helen,_ is there a way to break a love spell?”  
  
Helen glares at her like she’s daring her to say more, then her eyes soften, turning to Steve as she smiles her _mom_ smile. “Why, honey? What have you been up to?”  
  
Steve huffs and shrugs a shoulder. “Robin caught me pining for someone and,” he scowls, folding his arms over his chest. “Did a thing.”  
  
“That _Robin_ of yours,” Helen mutters. She sighs, running her hands through her hair. “Quite a mischief, that one.”  
  
Cheryl shrugs, propping her elbow on the countertop. “Dunno, Hel. I’d like to meet her,” she opposes, giving Steve an eye-twinkling grin.  
  
Aunt Cheryl’s always been the opposite of his mom. Where Helen’s hair falls past her shoulders in black curls, Cheryl’s red waves touch her hip. Where Helen’s all big green eyes, Cheryl’s upturned brown. But their differences don’t stop there. Helen’s responsible. Always bears consequences in mind and makes sure to lecture Steve if he flippantly uses his magic. _Cheryl_ taught him how to turn people to rodents when he was _ten._  
  
“What did you use in the spell?” Helen asks. She’s rummaging through the cabinets, ready to pull out the antidotes of his ingredients.  
  
“Um. thyme,” Steve counts on his fingers, shifting his weight. “Water. Wolfsbane. A strand of hair. Mine and his—”  
  
“Oh, a _boy?”_ Cheryl pushes herself upright and claps her hands once, delighted. “Is he handsome?”  
  
“Drop-dead,” Steve grumbles. “Californian.”  
  
“Oh, Merlin’s beard, those Californians are out to kill us, I’m tellin’ ya,” Cheryl sighs, wistful. “Remind me to tell you about a Julian. Met him in—when was it, Hel?”  
  
“Eighteen seventy two,” Helen murmurs, foraging through the drawers in search of. God knows what. “What else, Steve?”  
  
“Cinnamon. Robin said that’s more for the taste and smell, though, to cover it up,” Steve replies. “Who’s Julian?”  
  
“The love of my life,” Cheryl says on a breath.  
  
“You slept with him once, Cheryl,” Helen states.  
  
“He was great in bed!” Cheryl exclaims, defensive. Then looks to Steve and kisses the tips of her fingers like an Italian chef. “Alas, he was mortal.”  
  
Steve hates remembering that. Even if it’s a phantom weight he’s always carrying around, he tries not to think about it for too long.  
  
“Snake plant,” he says to his mother.  
  
“Dracaena trifasciata,” Cheryl muses. “That boy must be all over you by now,” she winks his way, chuckling when her sister looks over her shoulder with a tut of her tongue. “ _What?_ He’s a teenager! Do you need me to remind you what _you_ were like at seventeen?”  
  
“No!” Helen shouts. But a small smile tugs her lips upwards and Steve really wants to ask. _Later,_ he thinks.  
  
“And a drop of blood,” he concludes.  
  
The silence after is. Frankly, ear-splitting. Aunt Cheryl’s face sheds all humor and Helen’s hands still in the drawers.  
  
“Did I say something?” Steve asks.  
  
“A blood spell?” Helen demands after another beat of silence, turning to face Steve. “A blood spell, Steve?!”  
  
“She told me it was for her cat!” Steve argues.  
  
“Oh, her cat? That makes this so much better!” Helen cries out with false cheerfulness. “Steven, do you have _any_ idea what you’ve done?” his given name makes Steve flinch, drawing his shoulders up to his ears.  
  
“Bound a hot Californian to me?” he wonders playfully, adding a nervous chuckle in hopes of lightening the tense airs he’s given rise to.  
  
Cheryl looks away, biting the insides of her cheeks to hold back a laugh.  
  
“This isn’t a joke, young man,” Helen snaps. “A blood spell can’t be broken. Have fun with your hot Californian.”  
  
“What?” Steve breathes. “What do you mean? Mom, please. I didn’t mean to—”  
  
“No, I told you not to meddle in dark magic, Steven. How many times have I told you not to—”  
  
“You’re being a hypocrite!” Steve yells. A light in the far corner of the room bursts. “You’re not being fair! You’re making me feel like. Like there’s something _wrong_ with me. I was born like this, okay? Magic is in my, genes or whatever. You can’t keep me from it when it’s freaking. _Attached_ to me!”  
  
Cheryl clears her throat. Makes them both turn to look at her.  
  
“Kid’s right,” she’s looking at Helen as she nods her head to Steve.  
  
“Yeah, okay,” Helen smiles, ingenuine and _cold._ “It’s all my fault now,” she chuckles. “Everything’s on me,” she lifts her hands at her sides and takes a step back. “You deal with your mistakes on your own, Steve. And you,” she points a finger at Cheryl. “You need to grow up.”  
  
She leaves Steve and Cheryl in the kitchen with a tense bubble of silence.  
  
Steve clears his throat. “So,” he licks his mouth. “Julian?”  
  
“Right,” Cheryl effuses. “Julian Salvadore. We met…”

…

  
Billy Hargrove’s at Steve’s locker the next morning, grin spread lazily across his face. Guilt wraps itself around Steve like a liana as he approaches him. “Hey.”  
  
“Hi, darlin’,” Billy replies, leaning heavily against the locker next to Steve’s. Steve’s heart skips a beat at the pet name. It’s fake, a result of magic obviously, but he’s a mere mortal – _immortal –_ forgive him for having _feelings._ “Can I walk you to class?”  
  
“No,” Steve replies. “Um. I mean. Robin’s walking me.”  
  
Billy chuckles, toothpick wagging in his mouth. “So? You have two sides,” he lifts his hand and. He strokes Steve’s hair away from his face with the back of his fingers and Steve’s _dying._ “‘Sides, a king needs his guards and one isn’t enough.”  
  
Steve huffs a laugh despite himself, despite the liquid shame burning his insides like acid. “Didn’t take you for a sweet-talker.”  
  
“Lot’a things you don’t know about me, Stevie,” Billy replies, rocking himself off the locker. “C’mon. Let’s skip.”  
  
“I can’t. I’m—” Steve taps a finger on his book. “I’m failing calculus.”  
  
“You’ll figure it out,” Billy responds. “You’re a smart cookie.”  
  
Steve shouldn’t. It’s all types of wrong. It’s against witch code. It’s against his own fucking morals but. But Billy’s smiling at him, eyes crinkling at the sides, cheeks dimpled. And Steve _shouldn’t.  
  
_“No,” he forces out. “No. I need to. I gotta get to class. I’ll see you later,” he brushes past him and scurries off to class. He pointedly ignores Robin’s eyes when he walks past her to sit in the seat behind hers. “I hate you.”  
  
Robin turns in her seat. “You love me. You had a crush on me before finding out I’m gay.”  
  
“My taste has _refined,”_ Steve spits.  
  
“Yes. Billy Hargrove is very _refined,”_ Robin retaliates. “What happened?”  
  
“Blood spell,” Steve hisses. “Can’t be broken.”  
  
Robin hisses too. “Oops.”  
  
“Screw you,” Steve grits out. “I’m never forgiving you for this one. How can you even— are you seriously okay with this? He’s. He’s _in love with me.”  
  
_“Don’t think anyone would be without some _abracadabra_ ,” she swishes her pencil in the air like a wand. Makes Steve groan. “Just have fun with him. We’ll kill him when you get bored.”  
  
_“Rob!”  
  
_“I would appreciate some _silence!”_ Mrs. Calloway warns from the front of the classroom, tapping the lid of her pen on the desk.  
  
‘So would we,’ Robin mutters to herself, turning her back to Steve.

…

Aunt Cheryl meets Billy that night when he comes knocking at the door. So does Helen. And aunt Coral.  
  
Steve comes down to find him on the couch, Helen and Coral inspecting him closely while Cheryl sits super close to him. He doesn’t seem to mind. “Steve!” she exclaims when she sees him standing at the foot of the stairs. “Your _friend_ here tells me there’s a party at…?”  
  
“Tina’s,” Billy smiles, rising to his feet. “Thought we could go together.”  
  
“No,” Steve shakes his head. “I have homework and,” he fakes a cough into his fist. “I’m feeling a little sick. Seasonal flu.”  
  
“Oh,” Billy says. He closes the space between them like no one’s around to see and lifts his hand to touch the back of his fingers to his forehead, feeling his temperature. Steve’s quick to mutter an incantation. Makes Billy pull his hand back abruptly with a hiss. “You’re on fire, darlin’. Come on, I’ll tuck you in.”  
  
Steve jumps back. “I don’t need tucking in! I’m fine. I’m great actually, look,” he grabs Billy’s hand and presses it to his face. It’s back to its natural temperature. And a big mistake because Billy tilts his hand and cups his cheek, thumb stroking gentle over his cheekbone like Steve will _break_ if he’s mishandled.  
  
Steve revels in it for just a second before grabbing Billy around the wrist and pushing his hand down. “I’ll, I’ll see you later. Don’t come to my house without permission next time,” he mutters.  
  
“Aye aye, cap’n,” Billy offers a two-finger salute, clearly unaffected by Steve’s icy tone. He walks over to the couch where Cheryl’s sitting and bends down behind her to kiss her cheek. “Lovely meeting you.”  
  
Cheryl laughs and waves him off.  
  
Once the door shuts, Steve wraps his arms around himself, tears starting to build up behind his eyelids.  
  
“He’s gorgeous,” Cheryl comments. “And so _charming._ Did you see the _charisma_ on that boy?”  
  
“Now isn’t the time to gush,” Coral comments from behind her book.  
  
Helen rises to her feet and walks over to Steve, pulling him into her arms. “Wasn’t your fault,” she says quietly, for the first time since their kitchen fight. Steve buries his face in her shoulder and shakes with a sob.  
  
“I like him,” he whispers. “I like him so much.”  
  
“Oh, I know, sweetheart. I know,” Helen rubs her hand up and down his arm, tilting her head to kiss his hair. “We’ll find a way.”  
  
Empty promises. Steve still feels better hearing it.

…

Steve stops going to school to avoid bumping into him. Sometimes, he gets him to leave the house with poorly-made excuses. Other times, Billy stays to discuss literature with Coral and sexy men with Cheryl.  
  
This time, he corners Steve in the kitchen. “You’re avoiding me.”  
  
“I don’t like you,” Steve shoots back. “I don’t. I just don’t want you here. Can you leave? Please? Can you just. Just _stop_?”  
  
“I’m trying,” Billy answers. “I’m trying but I can’t stop thinking about you. I want you to give me a chance. One chance. One date, how does that sound?”  
  
“No,” Steve shakes his head. “I can’t. I really, _really_ can’t, Billy. I can’t look at you without—”  
  
Billy smiles, tilting his head to chase his eyes. “Without?” he prompts. “Without wanting to kiss me?”  
  
_Yes._ But _No._ “You’re so full of yourself,” Steve scoffs.  
  
“I’d let you kiss me,” Billy says. “Can’t stop thinkin’ about you kissing me.”  
  
Steve presses his lips together, wants to rip himself apart for ever letting it go this far. “One date,” he relents breathlessly. “If I don’t like it, you promise you’ll leave me alone?”  
  
“I promise,” Billy nods once. Sounds so sure of himself. “Tonight? Eight o’clock?”  
  
Steve nods, unsure. “Eight o’clock,” he repeats.

…

“Well don’t you clean up well,” Cheryl comments from the doorway. “Finally caved, Stevie?”  
  
“One date,” Steve sprays cologne on his wrist and rubs it over his neck. “Then I’m turning him down and never seeing him again.”  
  
“He won’t let up,” Cheryl states. Steve ignores her, checking himself in the mirror with a contemplative scowl.  
  
“Black blazer or gray?”  
  
“Steve—”  
  
“Maybe gray. It says _I tried_ but _not too hard,_ right?”  
  
“Sweetheart look at me.”  
  
Steve turns to face her. “What?!” he snaps. “What do you want me to say? I can’t avoid him all my life,” he pauses. “All _his_ life. I’m fucking. Wasting his time. I’m going to waste his whole _existence_. Because of a _puppy love._ A stupid passing _high school infatuation.  
  
_“I don’t know what to do. I don’t,” he buries his face in his hands. “I want him.”  
  
“He’s yours,” Cheryl replies softly. “Steve look at me.”  
  
Steve drops his hands from his face to look at her.  
  
“He’s yours,” she reiterates. “Love spells, they don’t work on someone who doesn’t have at least a scintilla of love for you. You just… quickened the process.”  
  
Steve wipes his sleeve over his eyes. “I wanted it slow,” he rasps. “I wanted it slow and agonizing and I wanted the ups and downs and I wanted the. The hesitation and the _consent._ This isn’t consensual. None of it is consensual. It’s just _blind, irrational love_ and I can’t _think_ of him without feeling like I’m _violating_ him. Fucking _Robin,_ I’m going to kill her one day.”  
  
Cheryl nods. “I wish I had the right thing to say,” she laments. “Alas, that’s your mother’s area.”  
  
Steve sniffs and turns back to the mirror to adjust his blazer. “Thanks for the talk, aunt Cheryl.”  
  
“No problem, sweeting,” she turns to leave. “Oh, and Steve?”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“The black blazer.”

…

Steve falls in love that night. Thinks maybe the spell’s a two-way street.  
  
There’s a party at the quarry. Billy gets them drinks, wipes his thumb over Steve’s upper lip with a laugh. The cheers start with the first shooting star and the meteor shower begins. Steve leans back on his hands and watches. He can feel Billy’s eyes on him, as scorching hot as the bolides bursting apart in the atmosphere. “Stars are up there, Hargrove,” he says without looking.  
  
“And you’re down here,” Billy quips. Steve wishes the cheering and laughing was loud enough to drown that out. To muffle his racing heart and dampen his want. “Did you clean up for _me_ , Steve?”  
  
“You give yourself _wayyy_ too much credit,” Steve responds, chuckling at the sky. “I cleaned up for _me._ You just happened to be here to appreciate how neat I look when I put in an effort.”  
  
Billy’s laugh travels over the apple of Steve’s cheek. His lips hover over the shell of Steve’s ear, hot and humid as he whispers, “Make a wish.”

…

“Did I pass?”  
  
Steve blinks.  
  
“I took you out, you’re home before midnight, _and_ I walked you to your door,” Billy steps in close, tips his head up slightly, eyes hooded and fixed on Steve’s mouth. “Do I qualify for a goodnight kiss?” he laves the last word into Steve’s mouth, wrapping both arms around his neck.  
  
Steve kisses back, cupping Billy’s jaw in a hand tenderly. He bites his lip and angles his head just right to lick deeper into Billy’s mouth. Makes him moan, makes him whisper Steve’s name into the space between them. And.  
  
“Stop,” Steve pushes on Billy’s chest, putting space between them. “Stop. I. I can’t do this. I can’t. You need to go.”  
  
Billy opens his mouth, a protest boiling to the tip of his tongue.  
  
“Tonight was, I was just indulging you. You said one date, remember?” Steve asks. “No more. I don’t want to see you again.”  
  
“Steve—”  
  
“Go home,” Steve schools his tone. “You got what you wanted, now you give me what I want.”  
  
Billy nods, stepping back. “Yeah. Ok.”  
  
And he leaves.

…

“Honey, your aunties and I have to be present for the annual assembly,” Helen’s saying, clipping her earrings on as she rushes around the house. “Don’t forget to feed Jinx. I’m always the one filling her bowls. Familiars don’t just exist to cater to your needs, Steve. You have to take care of them too.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Steve grumbles from where he’s sitting on the chandelier, knitting quietly. He’s not sure what he’s making, it’s just a shapeless distraction in his hands.  
  
“You know there’s a spell for that, right?” aunt Cheryl asks, looking up at him. “I’ll give you my Magic Crafties book once I’m back.”  
  
“Thanks, aunt Cher,” Steve mutters. “Have fun.”  
  
Aunt Carol’s voice drowns out Cheryl’s _Fun? Fun my backside!_ “Take care of the greenhouse, will you?” Carol asks. “Prune the roses and water the plants. Don’t water the cacti though! I did that yesterday.”  
  
“Alright, aunt Carol,” Steve drawls.  
  
“We’ll be home soon!”  
  
“Bye.”  
  
“And stop moping,” Cheryl shoots him a glare. “He’ll be dead and buried in a few decades, hardly worth your tears, my sweet.”  
  
Steve rolls his eyes. _“Bye,_ Cheryl.”  
  
She scampers off after her sisters. “Can’t we just take the fireplace?” her voice grows fainter before the door clicks shut and silence blankets the whole house. Save for the squeaking of the chandelier under his butt.  
  
He huffs, putting the knitting needles down. Jinx stares at him from the backrest of the couch. “Stop that,” Steve mutters. “Look, I know I messed up.”  
  
Jinx blinks.  
  
“Stop looking at me with those little beady judgemental eyes, Jinx!”  
  
Jinx looks away and closes her eyes. Leaves Steve to his thoughts.  
  
He eventually jumps down from the chandelier and starts tidying around, diverting his attention from the mess he’s made out of himself. Trick or Treaters start knocking at his door somewhere after 6. He tries to look enthusiastic and in a festive mood when he gives them candy, goes as far as doing a few magic tricks to pull a chocolate bar from behind a little kid’s ear and another’s pocket.  
  
The bell rings and he reaches for the bowl of candy, pulling the door open with a lazed out _Happy Halloween,_ then goes quiet. Because Billy’s on the other side of the door, wearing a leather jacket on top of nothing with his hair pulled back into a loose manbun. He grins, all sex and virility and Steve wonders if the spell’s broken because this isn’t the lovesick puppy he kissed last month. “Trick or treat, darlin’.”  
  
Steve purses his lips. “You promised.”  
  
“Never said I’m a man of my word,” Billy shrugs. “Can I come in?”  
  
“No,” Steve replies. He shoves the bowl of treats into Billy’s chest and pushes past him to go to the greenhouse, where his mom grows all her herbs. He doesn’t need to look to know Billy’s on his heel, following him all the way inside until they’re hidden away from bright lights and screeching kids.  
  
Billy sits on a bench at the table. He rubs a thyme frond between the pads of his fingers and sniffs at them. “Thyme. Your family dabble in herbs? Medicine? Aromatherapy?”  
  
“What? Uh. Yeah. Something like that, both,” Steve clears his throat around the lie and runs his fingers over a budding rose. “What are you doing here, Billy?” he finally blurts, turning to face him. “Don’t you have a sibling to take trick or treating?”  
  
“Missed you,” Billy answers like the words have been at the ready for _hours._ “Mom and Susan are taking Max trick or treatin’. Told them I have places to be.”He’s inspecting the plants with curious eyes, ringed fingers brushing their leaves. “Sansevieria trifasciata.”  
  
Steve swallows. “Mmh. They’re– they soak up poisonous gases, I think. Some people think they’re good luck because of it.”  
  
Billy nods, plucking one of its leaves. “I know.”  
  
Steve watches him play with the leaf for a small while. Watches a smile tilt his lips upwards before he blinks up at him. “Also Heard they’re good for spells, that true?”  
  
Steve’s heart stutters to a stop for a second, lips parting as Billy looks back down at the leaf, traces its edges with his thumb and forefinger. “Love spells,” he elucidates. “But I don’t believe in magic, so.”  
  
“Of course,” Steve nods. “Magic,” he scoffs, like his own isn’t tingling at the tips of his fingers begging for just. One touch. One more kiss.  
  
Billy’s brow hikes up and he kisses his teeth, studying the leaf closely, stroking his thumb over its deep grooves. “But there’s one thing you should know.”  
  
“What’s that?” Steve croaks.  
  
“Cinnamon doesn’t cover its taste,” Billy laughs out. “You’re smarter than that, Harrington.”  
  
Steve looks at him, mouth parted. “Excuse me? How’d you—”  
  
“Oh, right. My mom _dabbles_ in herbs too,” Billy leans forward, arms crossing on the table. He’s not— he _can’t_ be. Steve can’t be that lucky.  
  
“You’re…?”  
  
“A herbalist?” Billy suggests. There’s a smug edge to his tone, light-hearted and knowing. “No, no. Not my métier.”  
  
Steve keeps staring at him, waiting with bated breath. And. Billy snaps his fingers, makes the aloe vera leaves behind Steve poke him in the back, pushing him in Billy’s direction. Steve stumbles forward, nose stinging with emotion. “You’re—”  
  
“Yeah,” Billy whispers. He puts the leaf down and stands from the bench to close the gap between them. “Yeah,” he cradles Steve face in his hands and presses a chaste kiss to his mouth. “Buckley wanted to play wingman _as usual._ she told me you just needed a nudge in the right direction, and I was pretty damn _eager_ to play the part. Blood spells don’t work on other witches. T’was a good plan.”  
  
Steve huffs. “Fucking _Robin.”  
  
_“Fucking Robin,” Billy echoes. “And Cheryl.”  
  
“I knew it. She was so _okay_ with this whole thing,” Steve gripes, running his hand up and down the cleft of bare skin between the lapels of Billy’s jacket. “I really like you, Hargrove,” tendrils of magic ease out of his fingertips and lick over Billy’s skin, inching up to push a stray curl behind his ear.  
  
“Oof, the fourth grade confession,” Billy snorts. “I _really_ like you too, Harrington.”  
  
Steve’s hesitant when he dips his head and slides his mouth over Billy’s, soft and wet before he kisses him proper, unrestrained, with a fervor he’s had secreted under his skin for weeks. Billy exhales from his nose like he can finally breathe and presses harder into the kiss, sucking Steve’s lip into his mouth wetly. It draws a moan out of him. “Is that,” Billy laughs into Steve’s mouth before pulling back, looking down between them. “That a wand in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”  
  
Steve tuts his tongue, then flicks it over the seam of Billy’s lips, grins against him and cups his neck in both hands. “How about you reach down and find out for yourself, Hargrove?”


End file.
